


break me down | build me up

by nightrose



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: BDSM, Beating, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Praise Kink, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-19
Updated: 2015-04-19
Packaged: 2018-03-24 21:10:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3784399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightrose/pseuds/nightrose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nothing drives Grantaire wild the way praise can. The trouble is, he can't bring himself to ask for it.</p><p>The lucky thing is, Enjolras figures it out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	break me down | build me up

**Author's Note:**

> from the kink meme. Content warnings for verbal humiliation at the beginning (consensual, but still pretty intense).

It’s not that he doesn’t like humiliation, because he does. It turns him on, and in recent years, since his self-esteem has taken a turn from the bad to the truly terrible, it’s probably his biggest kink. Before they were together, in the small hours of the morning, he’d touch himself thinking about Enjolras calling him all those dirty names, making him feel even filthier than he felt himself. 

He just sometimes has another fantasy, one that feels even more forbidden. He’ll never ask for it, though. Never ask to be built up instead of being broken down. Because he doesn’t deserve it.

This, the humiliation, the degradation, the kneeling and pleading and pain, this he loves too, and this he can let himself have. 

He’s kneeling quietly as he thinks about it, his hands on his naked thighs, resting. He shakes a little, as he always does. Enjolras loves to make him obey this particular order: strip, go upstairs, and wait for me. It’s one of the hardest. He feels so vulnerable, alone in his own naked skin. It’s not a place he particularly likes to be. He stays so busy, with art and reading and fencing and everything else, precisely so he won’t have to reflect on just how little he enjoys being himself.

But Enjolras told him to kneel and wait, and he will.

Because as much as he hates it, he loves it too. The vulnerability is painful but it’s also delightful. He loves the knowledge that goes along with it, the knowledge that he’s doing this to make himself into this thing, obedient and good, ready to be taken. 

He hears footsteps on the stairway and quickly runs through his posture in his mind, checking to make sure he’s as close to perfect as he can make his imperfect body. Knees a little spread to expose himself, hands facing up, back straight, eyes down. As good as he can be. 

Enjolras is in the room. Grantaire knows better than to look up at him, but he tracks his movement by sound. His footsteps, the sound of him sitting down on the armchair, of a book being opened, pages being turned.

Grantaire is being ignored.

The realization sinks in his stomach with a heavy and brilliant weight. He hates it and he loves it all at once. It’s unbearable and delightful. He’s blushing with the shame of it, of being naked before his lover, ready for the taking, and having Enjolras not so much as speak to him or touch him. Yet at the same time the anticipation makes him burn even hotter. 

“Pathetic,” is the first word Enjolras says to him. Grantaire isn’t sure how long he’s been kneeling, but it’s been a while, long enough that his knees are sore against the ground and he’s aching to stretch a little bit, to shift even a little. 

But he doesn’t. He doesn’t move, he doesn’t respond, because in this moment he doesn’t have to do anything to get Enjolras’ attention. The book is still in his hands but it’s just a game. He doesn’t have to act out or monologue or flirt or anything. He just has to be here, and all of Enjolras’ burning, brilliant attention will be on him. 

“Don’t you agree?” Enjolras asks, his voice quite measured and calm.

“Sir?”

“You, kneeling there, naked on the floor. Don’t you think you’re pathetic?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You don’t sound very confident.” There’s a thump, probably the sound of the book falling to the floor, and then Enjolras is standing right beside him, in his space, towering over him. Grantaire’s heart beats too fast, aching for the slightest touch, but he doesn’t get it. Not yet. He’s just left there, hyper-conscious of the fact that he’s naked and on the ground, lowly and exposed, with Enjolras beautiful and composed towering over him. “Are you quite sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“Well, why is that?” Enjolras paces around him, never getting more than a footstep away, never getting quite close enough to touch. “What if I took my clothes off and knelt on the ground? Would that make me pathetic, like you are?”

“No, sir.”

“Why not?”

“Because…” Grantaire hesitates. Enjolras is so very good at finding things like this, finding things that he loves and hates, things that are almost too much. And one of those, like the waiting, is when Enjolras makes him talk. “You’d be doing it because you want to. Not because someone else ordered you to.”

“Good answer. And you’re only doing this because I told you to, is that right?”

Grantaire blushes, but answers honestly, as he’s promised always to do, staring determinedly at the floor. “And because it turns me on, sir.”

“Oh, so you like it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You like being on the floor? Beneath me? Being my plaything?”

Grantaire nods a little. 

“What does that make you?”

He can’t find the words.

Enjolras clacks his tongue loudly against his teeth, scolding. “Hm. I thought you knew to answer when you were asked a question.”

“I’m sorry.”

“What was that?”

“I’m sorry, sir.”

“What are you sorry for?”

“For not answering you properly.” Enjolras doesn’t respond, and Grantaire bites his lip, before filling in the silence with more words. “For not being able to answer as I should, which I know is a waste of your time.”

“Is that what you are?” Enjolras’ voice is almost gentle now, mockingly so, teasing. “Are you a waste?”

“Y-yes, sir.” Grantaire’s voice breaks. He wants so badly to say the right thing, to get his master’s hands on him, for Enjolras to push him down and take him and use him. “That’s all I am, sir. Your toy. A way for you to waste some time, if you choose to. If I’m lucky.”

“Do you think you’ll be lucky tonight? Do you think I’ll waste my time on you?”

“You have already, more than I deserve.”

“That’s right. Because you deserve nothing at all, isn’t that right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Look at me.” 

At the permission, at once, Grantaire looks up, his eyes scanning Enjolras’ face for his mood, his approval, his pleasure. It’s more than he expected, more than he deserves, he thinks back to himself. It’s all part of the game, he knows, just part of the game, but it still sinks in delightfully. 

He meets Enjolras’ shining blue eyes, and for a second those perfect lips curl upward in a smile that’s almost warm. Grantaire can’t help but smile back. 

Then Enjolras spits in his face.

The saliva lands warm and wet on his cheek, and the urge to wipe it away is so strong that he feels his hands twitch instinctively, but he stops himself before he moves out of position. 

He feels the shame on his skin, but it’s still so good when Enjolras says it, grinds it deep into him, “That’s more than you fucking deserve. You know you’re lucky I condescend to even spit in your face.”

“Fuck,” Grantaire whispers, and Enjolras laughs.

“Look how much you like this. You’re so hard. I haven’t laid one finger on you. And maybe I won’t. Maybe I’ll just get myself off and make you lick it off the floor.”

“Please,” he says, his voice trembling. He’s never been good at begging. He can’t string together eloquent phrases or try to make himself seem tempting, because he doesn’t particularly think he is, but he’s not afraid to plead. “Please don’t. Please let me. Please.”

“What do you want?”

“Touch me. Hurt me. Use me. Fuck me. Anything.”

“Me, me, me. So selfish.” Enjolras seems to be considering something. “It is entertaining to hurt you, though. You make the funniest little noises. I like when you try to squirm away from me but then beg me to keep going because you’re just that fucking desperate. I guess I could do that. I could put your collar on you and tie you up, make you sit on my lap while I pinch you and slap you and hurt you for hours, make you sob and still ask me for it like the good slut you are.”

“Please, sir.”

“On the other hand, that would be a lot of work. And it would be awfully easy to just jerk off onto the ground. Then I could get back to my book, which is really much more interesting than you.”

He wouldn’t. It wouldn’t be a fun fantasy for either of them, and it’s skirting awfully close to the limits— or would be, if it were carried out. But the threat of it, imagining kneeling like this, totally untouched and ignored, like a piece of furniture, nothing when he’s no longer useful, is delicious. 

“I’ll be good. Please just touch me, sir, please, it’s all I want, just-“

Enjolras hits him, hard, right across the face. The slap is sudden and stingingly painful. “Happy?” he mocks. “I’ve touched you, did you like that? Did you get what you wanted?”

“Yes, sir,” he says, because it’s true. There’s a part of him that could live on that blow alone, just the touch of fingers flying across his face. 

“What kind of freak wants to be slapped in the face?”

“Me,” he says, simply. “I do.”

“Well. Let’s get your collar on you, then, and see just how worthless you are.”

There’s more intimacy, more warmth, in the collar going around his neck than there has been in the rest of the scene. Enjolras still doesn’t spare a touch other than what is absolutely necessary, but his hands brush Grantaire’s skin as he fastens the leather strap around the back of his neck. 

“This too, I think,” he says, and hooks the leash to the loop at the front of Grantaire’s collar.

“Yes, please, sir.”

“Oh, you like that.”

“Very much,” he admits. Grantaire feels a bit bad sometimes. He so rarely has to ask, and it would be so hard to. He can’t imagine laying his fantasies out, as often and as unapologetically, as his master does. 

“Tell me why, then.”

And when he’s forced to, like this, the shame that runs through him is too deep to speak of. “Because… me wearing your collar, me being at the end of your leash, means I’m under your control. Means I’m yours.”

“That’s a good thing to you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You’re telling me that you think it’s a fucking positive to have a collar around your neck like a dog.”

Enjolras says it like he’s ashamed of him. Like Grantaire ought to be ashamed of himself for being so filthy. “I do, sir.”

“You’re proud of this, are you? You’re proud that you let me do this to you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You aspire to being a piece of property, is that right? You could have some common human dignity, like everyone else, but no. You don’t want that. You don’t want equality.” He sneers the word.

“No, sir. I don’t.”

“You don’t want to stand up here, all polished and proud. You want to be on your knees. You want to cower in front of me.”

“I do.”

“You like this. This is what you want to be for me. An object. A fucktoy. A possession.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Being my dog would be a fucking promotion for you, wouldn’t it, slut?” It’s not like Enjolras to swear, not normally. But in a scene, he does quite readily, dirty words dripping from those perfect lips. “It would be a step up to be a pet. You’re just a thing.”

Grantaire takes a breath, or starts to, trying to steady himself, but then Enjolras tugs harshly at the front of the leash, forcing him to jolt forward. He yanks on the leash until Grantaire is off-balance, until he teeters off his knees and jerks forward.

He manages to catch himself, on his hands, before he totally face-plants on the ground. Enjolras yanks on the leash again.

“Did I tell you you could move your hands out of position, bitch?”

“No, sir.”

“Then why did you?”

“I’m sorry.”

“That’s not the answer to my question, is it?”

“No, sir. I- I moved them because I was going to fall.”

“There we go. The truth. Was that so difficult?”

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For moving my hands, sir.”

“And why shouldn’t you have moved them?”

“I didn’t have permission to.”

“Hmm.” Enjolras tugs on the leash, just a little bit. “But then again, if you hadn’t moved your hands, you’re saying you would have fallen hard. Is that what you’re saying? Just so I can be clear I understand your position.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And that would have hurt?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I guess what I’m not understanding here,” Enjolras purrs, his voice soft and dangerous, “is why you think I would care.”

“Sir?”

“The question here is what’s more important, right? Your comfort, or my orders. Do you have some kind of right to do what you’d like, or does my order that your hands stay behind your back come first?” 

A shiver goes down Grantaire’s spine. He’s still on his hands and knees, where the fall out of position left him, but Enjolras tugs on the leash and makes him look upwards. He loves these sorts of mind games, because the truth is, he can’t win. Which of course means he’s bound to win. No matter how he answers, this is going to end with him getting beaten and fucked, which is precisely what he wants. 

“It’s a very simple question. I know a stupid whore like you doesn’t often think about things other than sucking cock, but even you should be able to answer this. What’s more important to you?”

“Following your orders should be the most important thing to me, sir, but I made a mistake.”

“Good answer,” Enjolras says. “You won’t be punished. Not much. I’ll just have to make sure you don’t make a mistake like that again, how does that sound?”

“Good, sir. I don’t mean to make mistakes.” Grantaire rarely elaborates over what he has to say in scenes, but for some reason he’s feeling bold just then. “I can’t help it that I’m nothing but a stupid whore.”

Enjolras looks surprised for a second, but then a low, dirty smile spreads over his features. “That’s right. I’m not unsympathetic to you, you know. I’d hardly allow a dirty animal like you in my house otherwise, slobbering all over my boots, getting your naked filth all over my floors, if I didn’t recognize that what you need is discipline and correction. I do believe that with some training, you’ll one day be a halfway decent hole to shove my cock onto.”

Grantaire’s throat is dry from how turned on he is. He can barely get the words out. “Thank you, sir.”

“So I’m just going to tie your hands behind your back. That way you won’t fuck up again.”

He loves bondage. It’s a pleasure to be tied up, not a punishment at all.

The leash goes slack for a moment as Enjolras retrieves the cuffs as well. The familiar leather is fastened tight around his wrists, binding Grantaire’s hands tight to one another and behind his back. Naked except for the leather at his wrists and throat and the chain in Enjolras’ hand, he feels as completely submissive as he can.

Then Enjolras tugs on the leash again, and he goes, face down onto the ground. He doesn’t land hard, though. Just enough that it’s degrading to have his face ground into the floor.

“Was that so bad?”

“No, sir.”

“Was it worth being disobedient?”

“No, sir.”

“You don’t think it’s worthwhile to try and keep your face off the ground? You think it’s all right to let yourself be put down there on the floor like that?”

He doesn’t answer, because he doesn’t know what to say.

Enjolras lifts up his boot, one of the pair he bought especially for boot worship and keeps in a box just outside, and presses it down, firmly, on the back of Grantaire’s neck, forcing his face further down. It’s a little painful, the way he’s forced against the floor. 

“I just want you to think for a second,” Enjolras says, perfectly calmly, “about how totally helpless you are.”

Grantaire lets a little moan escape his throat.

“You’re completely naked. Your hands are tied behind your back— you couldn’t move if you wanted to. And your face is under my foot. You’re actually lower than my shoe.”

“You could do anything to me, sir.”

“That’s right. I could hurt you so badly, just because it would amuse me. It would be easy. All I’d have to do is lift my boot, like this—“ Enjolras lifts his boot off Grantaire’s head for a moment, and then kicks him in the side. Grantaire gasps. “Did that hurt?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Funny. It was easy for me. I mean, I could literally walk all over you. And you couldn’t do a fucking thing to stop me, could you?”

“No, sir.”

“Not that you’d try to. You didn’t try to defend yourself when I was spitting in your face, did you?”

“No, sir, I didn’t.”

“Did you like it?”

Grantaire can’t answer. The shame wells up in his throat, and it’s too much.

Enjolras tugs on his leash, sharply. “It’s a simple question. Yes or no, slut, do you like me spitting in your face?”

“Yes, sir,” Grantaire mumbles.

“If I told you I wasn’t going to do it again unless you begged me for it very nicely, would you do it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I don’t believe you. You’re mumbling like that. It almost seems like you’re ashamed of wanting it. Is that true?”

“I am.”

“But you want it anyway?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, if you want it, you’d better ask for it.”

“Please, sir.”

Enjolras actually laughs at him. “That’s the most pathetic thing I’ve ever heard in my life. I want you to look me in the eye and ask for what you fucking want.”

“I want you to let me lick your boots, sir.”

“You think you’re good enough for that? Let me ask you that. Does your mouth deserve to be on my boots?”

“No, sir. But please, let me.”

Enjolras hesitates, and then says, “No, I don’t think I want you getting your filthy mouth all over my nice clean boots. But since you begged, you may kiss them.”

Grantaire does as he’s told, bending down to kiss the tips of each boot. The taste of leather is overwhelmingly good. He wants to be allowed to keep going, to polish Enjolras’ boots with his mouth, to get down on the floor and settle into the task he loves so much. But he hasn’t got permission.

Enjolras has decided that Grantaire’s not fit to lick his boots.

He swallows down that thought, heavy and hot, and kneels back up. “Please, sir, is there anything else I can do?”

“I don’t know. We’ve already established that you aren’t good enough to lick my boots, haven’t we?”

“Yes, sir.”

“So what could I possibly want from you? Can you think of anything more degrading than that? Anything I could have you do that would be fitting for a disgusting whore like you?”

“You could beat me.”

“A nice way to ask for what you want. Do you really think you’re worth going to all of that effort?”

“No, sir. Although it might amuse you.”

“It might. Clever of you to remember me saying that, I didn’t think your empty head could hold onto anything for that long. But then again, it’s a terrible amount of work to hurt you.”

“It doesn’t have to be, sir. Like you said, I’m already on the ground. You wouldn’t do anything, you could just step on me. Kick me. It’d barely be any effort for you at all.”

“That’s not a bad idea, considering.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“And you’d like that, would you? Being kicked around like a dog?”

“Anything you want. It would only be because you’d let me. Because you’d want it. I could never deserve it, sir.”

Enjolras smiles at him, just a little bit. “Nicely said. Maybe you do deserve it after all.”

Grantaire expects him to continue on to something degrading, as he usually would, but he still can’t help the little shiver of pleasure that comes over him at the compliment, however slight. 

And Enjolras, an attentive Dom as always, notices.

“You like that?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You’d like to be my good pet, wouldn’t you?”

Grantaire tries to push down his reaction. He doesn’t want to answer. It’s too much to ask for. He tries to give the most neutral answer he can. “I want whatever pleases you, sir.”

“That’s not what I asked, Grantaire.” Enjolras’ voice has suddenly taken on a serious edge that’s almost dangerous. 

“I’m sorry, sir.”

Enjolras tugs on the leash. “Look at me.”

Grantaire does as he’s told, tentatively. His heart is pounding in his throat. Enjolras sounds so severe. Almost angry. He doesn’t want Enjolras to be angry with him, he wants Enjolras to be pleased, happy, amused if that’s the best he can get. 

He’s nervous to see what expression will be on Enjolras’ face, but when he looks up, he sees a gentleness there that he’s not used to, not in the middle of a scene.

Enjolras is often a very gentle lover, and Grantaire has been privileged to see him in many of his quieter moments, but not usually when they’re playing together like this. 

“We’re playing a game right now, a game where I am a very cruel master and you are a very worthless slave. I’m asking if you’d rather play a different game.”

Grantaire can’t answer.

“It’s not a trick question, if that’s what you’re afraid of.”

“I don’t… I do like this. I like what we’re doing. I love it. I’m yours, however you want me.”

“That’s still not what I asked.”

Grantaire looks down, unable to meet his eyes. He can tell he’s blushing brightly, feel the blood in his own cheeks.

Enjolras tugs on the leash again.

“Come on, R. I’m giving you two options. What do you want?”

“I can’t, sir,” Grantaire says. “I want what you want. That’s enough for me.”

“All you have to do is ask. Just ask.”

“I can’t,” Grantaire repeats, shaking his head. He’s not sure what he expects.

It’s not Enjolras’ hand gently coming to rest on his cheek, tilting his face upwards. “That’s all right,” Enjolras says, gentle now.

“Sir?”

“I understand anyway.”

“Sir, I don’t-“

“My good boy. Trying so hard to be perfect for me that you don’t want to ask me for anything. But that’s all right. You don’t have to.”

“Please,” Grantaire says, desperation suddenly clawing in his chest. He feels unsure, lost, like he’s been set adrift. “Sir, please, I don’t know—“

Enjolras grips his leash firmly, tugging him up to his feet. “Don’t worry,” he says, and then pulls Grantaire in for a long, deep kiss. 

Grantaire’s lips open as he sighs, letting Enjolras claim his mouth eagerly. 

When the kiss ends, Enjolras asks, “You trust me, right?”

“With everything, sir.”

“Good.” Enjolras tugs on the leash, guiding Grantaire to stand in front of him. He loops an arm around his waist, holding him close, and turns a little so they’re both looking into the full-length mirror on the back of the door. Grantaire blushes at the sight of himself, naked and hard and bound. He looks away, but as he expected Enjolras won’t stand for that and quickly tugs on his leash again. “Look at yourself.”

He does, as much as he hates it. He hates the idea of disobeying even more. 

Enjolras leans in, kissing his neck, letting one hand trail across Grantaire’s chest as he does. Then he whispers in his ear, “You are so fucking gorgeous.”

Grantaire scoffs. “Yeah, right—“

But before he can get the words out, Enjolras’ hand is coming down hard against his thigh, a few swift slaps as reprimand. “What was that?”

“I’m sorry, sir.”

“Do you get to talk back to me?”

“No, sir.”

“That’s right.” Enjolras kisses his neck again, then lets his teeth tease at Grantaire’s ear. “Do you know what you say when I give you a compliment?”

“No, sir.”

“You say, ‘Thank you, sir.’”

Grantaire wants to look away, wants to look at anything but himself blushing bright red and so obviously so into this in the mirror, but he has to do as Enjolras said.

“Go on. Give it a try.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Was that so hard?” Enjolras asks.

“Yes, sir,” Grantaire confesses.

“Why is it so easy to ask for punishment, and so hard to accept pleasure when it’s being offered to you?”

The not-very-submissive thought runs through Grantaire’s mind that this is supposed to be hot kinky sex time, not therapy. “I don’t feel like I deserve it, sir.”

“Who decides what you deserve?”

“You do,” Grantaire says, a little more confident now.

“Good boy,” Enjolras murmurs into his ear.

“Thank you, sir,” Grantaire manages, his throat tight. He doesn’t know how he got lucky enough that Enjolras would want to give this to him, would even try to, let alone would figure it out when he was too afraid to ask.

Enjolras gently pinches one of Grantaire’s nipples, squeezing slowly but intently until Grantaire gasps. “I love the noises you make.”

“Thank you, sir.”

He’s kissing Grantaire’s neck again, sucking and biting, and Grantaire shivers at the thought of the marks that’s going to make. He’ll have hickeys like a teenager all over his neck, and everyone will know he’s been claimed. 

A collar and bruises around his neck. Enjolras’ collar, bruises from Enjolras’ neck.

He’s so lucky.

Enjolras is still fully dressed, but he’s also rocking forward, and Grantaire can feel how hard his cock is as it presses against his ass.

He scratches his blunt fingernails down Grantaire’s chest, making him whimper out loud.

“Do you want something, sweetheart?” Enjolras asks, and Grantaire has to bite back another whimper at the pet name.

“This is perfect,” he says. 

“You’re perfect,” Enjolras replies. “My perfect pet.”

Grantaire looks down, too overwhelmed to answer.

Then there’s a hand in the back of his hair, pulling painfully to make him look back up. Enjolras bites his ear, punishingly hard, and then hisses, “What do you say?”

“I can’t.”

“Yes, you can. It’s just words. Just a little politeness. It’s hardly the most difficult thing I’ve asked of you.”

It feels like it is. It feels like acknowledging that— accepting that— would be harder than the cruelest whipping or most exacting service scene he’s endured for Enjolras. It feels impossible.

Yet nonetheless, he gets out the words. “Th-thank you, sir.”

“How are you doing?” Enjolras murmurs in his ear.

“Good, sir.”

“Enjoying yourself?”

“Yes, sir.” The words don’t feel like enough. He wants to say something more— something that would show just how much he loves this, wants this, needs this. Yet he can’t find them. Part of the appeal has always been that he doesn’t have to ask— that he just takes. 

“Good. That’s what I want, you know. I want you to enjoy this as much as I do. I want to watch you come so hard—“

Grantaire makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat. He’s so ready. They’ve just started, but he feels desperate even now. 

“Is that what you want?”

“I want—“ he feels like he has to say something real. At this point, he’s made Enjolras guess enough. He owes him some kind of honesty. “I want to be good for you. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

Enjolras smiles— Grantaire can see the happiness spread across his face in the mirror. “You are. You always are.”

“Sir—“

“I’m going to let you show me just how good you can be. Get on the bed.”

Enjolras lets go of him, and Grantaire rushes to do as he’s told.

“Up on your hands and knees. Here.” He tosses their usual plug at him, a small silver one about three inches in length, and a bottle of lube. “Finger yourself, then put that in.”

The cold way he gives the orders is almost reassuring. It’s a return to normal, to the kind of dominance he’s used to, and Grantaire can’t help but appreciate it. 

Yet as soon as he gets himself into position, things change again. 

“You look so fucking gorgeous,” Enjolras says, and Grantaire buries his face in the blankets, not looking at him. “Don’t you dare hide from me, pet. Your body is mine, and I want to see it.”

Grantaire does as he’s told, coating his fingers in the lube and sliding two into himself. They go easily, a nice, ready thrust, and he can enjoy the feeling for just a minute before he’s distracted by Enjolras’ words.

“That’s it, love. That’s what I want. Putting on such a show for me. Finger yourself, make it feel good. I want to listen to those beautiful moans you make.”

“Enjolras—“ Grantaire starts, and is cut off with a smack on his ass.

“I’ll hear some respect too, though.”

“I’m sorry, sir.”

“Who owns you?”

“You do, sir.”   
“That’s right. Every beautiful inch of you.” Enjolras’ hand is steady and warm on his back now. “I love watching you do this. Opening yourself up for me.”

Grantaire eases another finger in. He’s so desperate it’s easy to take it, easy to do anything that might get him even one second closer to having Enjolras’ dick buried in his ass. 

“You look so perfect. So eager. You love this so much, and it’s so damn hot watching your whole body plead to be taken.”

The praise makes his skin prickle. It’s uncomfortable but also so arousing. Grantaire slides the plug into himself, whimpering a little as it settles into place. He tenses around it, getting used to the unyielding pressure of the metal inside him. 

“I want to fuck you, right now,” Enjolras says, his voice low and quiet. “I want to pull that plug right out of you and take you right this second. It would feel so good, you all warm and soft around me. I want to feel you opening up to me, listen to those noises you make, watch the blush on your beautiful face.”

“Please, sir—“

“That’s what I like to hear. Beg for me.”

“Please, sir, anything. Anything you want. Fuck me, hurt me, anything.”

Enjolras’ hand is in his hair, suddenly, pulling hard at the short hairs at the back of his head. It hurts, sharp and good, a pain that goes right down to his cock like a line of fire. He pulls Grantaire up onto his knees, pinning him in place and making him meet his bright blue eyes. “You are such a good boy. So obedient, so submissive. I am so lucky to have you.”

“Sir-“ The praise is making him desperate. Desperate to earn it, to deserve it, to have Enjolras show him that he means it. 

“I’m not going to fuck you yet.” 

Grantaire lets out a little groan of disappointment. He’d expected that, when Enjolras had him put the plug in, that it was to hold him ready and make him wait. Still, he wants, intensely and immediately. 

Enjolras kisses him. It’s a fierce kiss, rough and claiming. Grantaire can do nothing but open his mouth and yield, giving over everything he is. One of Enjolras’ hands is pulling his hair and the other is tugging on the loop in his collar and between those two solid points he is held safe and free.

It doesn’t matter if Enjolras fucks him now, or in an hour, or never. If he does nothing but kiss him all night, or if he ties him down and whips him. Nothing matters except pleasing him, except being his. 

A dim, distant part of him recognizes rationally that he’s fallen into a particularly deep headspace, that this high is nothing more than a trick of endorphins, but most of him is lost in the perfect transformation of surrender. 

“I just know you’re going to be so good for me,” Enjolras murmurs into his ear, “and you’re going to do just what I want. I love how obedient you are.”

“Anything, sir,” Grantaire says, and he can hear how spaced-out and distant his own voice sounds but he can’t bring himself to care. 

“What if I want to hurt you? Would that be all right?”

Grantaire shivers. “Yes, sir.” 

“I might hurt you quite a lot. I think I’d like to make you cry.”   
“Please, sir.”

“You’re so good. Get up, come on.” Enjolras tugs on his hair, making him stand, and pushes him up against the wall so his nose is touching the cold, flat surface. “Stay there. Hands on the wall.”

He braces himself with his hands, grateful for the order, grateful to be put in place, grateful for everything. He can hear Enjolras reaching into the drawer, taking out a short whip, but there’s no nervousness, no fear. Even when he wants— even though he always wants it— usually he can’t help but flinch when he hears the lash whistling through the air, but now he doesn’t. He just waits for it, ready and fearless.

The pain is bright and sharp and clear, right across his ass. A thought drifts through his mind— his skin red and striped, the pain later when Enjolras presses into him— and he smiles at it, wants it. 

Another hit. And another, and another. There’s no games, no making him plead for it, no humiliation. Just the constant, unyielding pain. 

And then, as his head starts to spin, Enjolras’ voice.

“You’re doing so well, my darling. You’re so brave.”

Grantaire distantly hears his own breath hitch as the whip lands against his back.

“I’m so lucky to have a sub like you. Someone so giving, so good.”

Grantaire’s hands are shaking, and he’s not sure if it’s the kind words or the pain, but his mind is spinning and his body is trembling and he doesn’t know how much longer he can stay standing. 

The strokes keep coming. It’s been a dozen or so now, he isn’t counting and neither is Enjolras. Enjolras is too busy murmuring praise at him, praise that makes the pain melt away into unbearable sweetness. 

“You look so beautiful like this. I love watching you take this for me. I love you.”

He feels tears pricking at the corners of his eyes, but he doesn’t want to give in yet. He doesn’t want this to stop. The whip hurts so much, like every blow is landing burning on his back, and yet he wants it to keep going on and on. He wants gentleness, but not mercy. He wants love, but not for this to end. Never for this to end.

This is where he needs to be. Right here, owned and hurt and treasured for it. By the man he loves more than anything.

This is everything he’s ever wanted.

And then he’s really crying, and there’s no hiding it. He slumps forward, all his weight against the wall, and lets himself cry.

“R? Are you all right?”

He manages to nod. His throat is too thick with tears to speak.

“Turn around for me,” Enjolras says, his voice gentle but firm. 

Grantaire does as he’s told. 

Enjolras leans in close, looping a finger in his collar, and kisses his tears away. It’s so intimate that it feels a little strange, having Enjolras’ lips gentle on his face after the harshness of the whip, but he feels a little put back together by it, a little less like he’s shattering into a thousand pieces beneath the kindness and the pain. He feels like he’s ready for whatever is next. 

Whatever Enjolras decides for him, that’s what he wants.

And what he wants, apparently, is to fuck Grantaire. 

He orders him back onto the bed, flat on his back, knees up and spread. The position is painful with his newly striped back, but he doesn’t hesitate. He’s as eager for it as he’s ever been.

Not so much because of his own desire— although he’s been hard since Enjolras put him on his knees— but because of what it means. 

The tenderness of this scene makes him feel more owned than any humiliation ever has. He might have thought that being given what he’s always wanted would take the edge off his desire, but it’s only made him want it more. More fiercely, more intently, just more. Now that he knows how good it feels to be hurt and had and praised all at once, he wants it to go on and on.

He wants this forever. He’s greedier for it than he knew he could be for anything. 

Enjolras takes the plug out of him, slow and easy, and sets it aside. Then he cups Grantaire’s ass in his hand, squeezing hard. It’s painful, the pressure of his grip on the new welts made by the whip, but it also feels so possessive, so good, that Grantaire isn’t sure whether he’s moaning in pain or pleasure. 

“You’re so damn hot,” Enjolras says, and then kisses him hard. They’re in the midst of the kiss when Enjolras slides into him in a single slow thrust. Grantaire isn’t sure quite how it happens— he’s dizzy from the pain of his back against the bed and Enjolras’ lips and teeth on his and everything— but that only makes it more perfect. “I just want you to lie here and let me take you. Let me have you. Because you’re so damn gorgeous I can hardly resist you.”

Enjolras’ voice has gone low and husky from desire, and Grantaire shivers at the sound, at the naked want in his voice. “I—“ he says, the beginnings of a protest, but he’s cut off by another kiss.

“You are not allowed to argue with me about this, pet. You are mine and I tell you that you are sexy and perfect and I love being inside you, I love using you, I love owning you, I love you, and the only thing you are allowed to say is—“

“Thank you, sir.”

Enjolras smiles down at him. “Good boy.”

“I want to make you come,” Enjolras says.

“Yes, sir, please—“

“You are so fucking sweet,” Enjolras says. “I love hearing you say that. All desperate and good for me. And now I want to watch how gorgeous you are when you come.”

“Please, sir, please-“

Enjolras shifts position a little bit, so that he’s up on one arm and can wrap the other around Grantaire’s cock.

Grantaire gasps, surprised a little at just how good it feels. So much better than when he touches himself. Better than anything.

“Look at me,” Enjolras orders. “I want to see your beautiful eyes on me. See your pleasure. How much you love this.”

“I do. I really fucking love this, sir, I love being yours, please-“

Enjolras looks down at him, his eyes bright, and he doesn’t have to say anything now. Grantaire knows. Believes it.

He’s good. 

He comes, his hips jerking into Enjolras’ hand. It feels distant, almost, because he’s so lost in his head. He feels almost detached from his body as he shakes in a wave of overwhelming pleasure, and yet it’s the realest, the most encompassing, thing he can imagine feeling.

It goes on for a long, wonderful moment, his hips moving back against Enjolras’ to feel Enjolras moving inside him, forward for the friction of his hand, Enjolras above him and inside him and everywhere.

A smile drifts distantly across his face as Enjolras continues to move inside him. Grantaire can feel that he’s getting close now, his thrusts getting less and less gentle.

He loves this part more than anything, when Enjolras has lost control, lost the ability to play games with him, and just uses him. Especially after he’s come— when he’s tired and sensitive and it’s all so clearly not about him. 

It’s about Enjolras, about being good for him, about giving his body over to be used. Like an object, like a toy, helpless and held close.

He loses himself in the sensation, in his submission, riding the wave with Enjolras as he thrusts a few more desperate times and then comes. Grantaire can feel the warmth inside him, the claiming, the knowledge that he’s pleased.

Enjolras stays in him for a long moment afterwards, kissing Grantaire gently as his cock starts to soften. 

“That was amazing,” he murmurs as he pulls away.

“Don’t go,” Grantaire mumbles.

“I just want to clean up. Is that okay?”

Grantaire can’t help but pout a little. “Okay, but come back soon.”

Enjolras just leans over to the bedside and gets a tissue. He wipes off Grantaire’s stomach and then his own cock, and then he kisses Grantaire again.

There’s been more kissing in this scene than there usually is, but Grantaire loves it. Can’t get enough. He feels like he could kiss Enjolras forever.

“Come here, love,” Enjolras murmurs, pulling Grantaire into his arms.

For a long time, nothing is said. They just lie there, curled up against each other, not speaking. Grantaire listens to Enjolras breathe, soothed by the even rhythm of his breath. 

Grantaire comes up from the scene easily. It’s like waking from a restful sleep, or floating up after diving deep into a pool. His mind comes back to him bit by bit, eased into place by the rhythm of Enjolras’ fingers idly stroking his hair. 

“How are you feeling?” Enjolras asks, once he notices Grantaire’s alertness.

“Great,” Grantaire says.

“I know that was different than our usual scenes. I want to check in. Was it okay?”

“It was amazing.”

“That’s what you’ve wanted from me all along, isn’t it?” Enjolras asks. “That kind of praise?”

Grantaire shrugs. 

“I’m sorry, R. I should have noticed.”

“Yes,” Grantaire teases. “I’m very upset with you that you don’t have a superpower that allows you to read my mind and detect what I want in bed. Enjolras, I do actually understand that if I want something, I have to ask for it in words.”

“Still. If what we had been doing—“

“Oh, for fuck’s sake. Enjolras, I liked the humiliation scenes we did. I had a good time, I got off spectacularly, it was fun, I would have told you if it wasn’t. I liked this too, I look forward to more of both, now can we stop the part where you freak about all past, present, and future actions of your penis and just spoon me?”

Enjolras laughs. “If that’s what you want, my love. You’re the boss.”

Grantaire turns onto his side, tugging Enjolras’ arm with him so he has to spoon up behind Grantaire. “Yeah, very funny.”

Enjolras drops a kiss to the exposed skin of his neck, just above the collar he’s still wearing. “I hope you know that we are going to talk about this tomorrow.”

“Awesome. Can’t wait. Love talking about sex. On the other hand, we could just… have more of it.”

“Hmm. I see the appeal of your logic there. Clever boy.”

“Stop, you’ll get me all turned on again.”

“What, if I tell you that you’re smart,” a kiss to his neck, “and brilliant,” his shoulder, “and beautiful,” his cheek, “and good?” his sensitive ear.

“Yeah. That.” 

“I mean it, you know. This isn’t like usual, where it’s all a game. I really do think you’re pretty wonderful.”

Grantaire doesn’t know what to say. He wishes he could find the words to tell Enjolras, to thank him.

Because for a minute there, he believed it too.


End file.
